"There's no need for apologies," Emily thought, recognizing that Chris was the most considerate person to her besides her grandmother. She shook her head in firm denial.

The warmth in her hands caused her frostbitten skin to itch, prompting her to scratch them repeatedly. The two adults watched in a contemplative silence as this young girl tried to relieve her discomfort. The quiet was eventually broken by John’s heavy sigh. He sat beside Chris, clapped a supportive hand on his shoulder, and said, “Before we came, Uncle wanted me to talk some sense into you. But now, I see no need. I’m with you.”

Chris forced a smile in response to John's show of solidarity.

That night, as the train rattled steadily onward, Chris, exhausted from the whirlwind of recent days, found sleep eluding him. Despite the dim light, he could see Emily’s eyes, wide and clear, watching him from the opposite berth.

Meeting her gaze, filled with an unyielding trust, Chris felt a curious tranquility settle over him. He spoke softly, “Get some rest, Emily. Sleep tight.”

Emily murmured a sleepy “Okay,” and waited until she heard Chris’s steady breathing before finally closing her eyes.

Her slumber was deep and dreamless.

By the fourth morning, the train finally rolled into Chicago—a bustling metropolis critical to the national economy. As they exited the train station, Emily was in awe of the towering skyscrapers, the rush of traffic on the overpasses, the scent of women's perfume as they passed by, and the unyielding pace of the city dwellers—all of it reshaping her understanding beyond the twelve years spent in her small village.

She stood there, momentarily lost in this new world.

“Emily!” Chris called, gesturing for her to get into the car that had come to pick them up. She hurried forward, lugging her suitcase, as Chris held the door open and placed her suitcase in the trunk, only entering himself once she was settled inside.

John, taking the front seat, exchanged idle chatter with the driver. “Did Chris’s uncle know you were coming over?”

The driver, seeming a straightforward fellow, replied, “Mr. Chris was unaware.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, if Chris’s uncle knew, you probably wouldn’t have made it.”

The driver remained silent, and Chris’s serious demeanor weighed heavily on Emily, hinting at unspoken concerns.

As the car left the main road and ventured into a residential area, the sounds of the bustling city gradually quieted. Emily gazed out at the scenery—tree-lined streets ahead lay a black, wrought-iron gate; behind it stood rows of beautifully bricked houses.

The urban wind, softened as it passed through the high-rises, brushed gently against her face, prompting her to squint slightly.

The car paused for the gate to open, and then slowly proceeded, parking finally in a garage outside.

With the car parked, Chris retrieved Emily’s suitcase and led the way. The houses were built on a slope; though Chicago’s wintry chill arrived late, both sides of the path were lined with well-maintained trees and flowerbeds of various hues. Each house featured a fenced front yard, some with flower beds and grass, others with outdoor bars.

She took in every detail with keen interest, noting one yard distinct from the others—its gate was the tallest, tipped with sharp points that glowed in the sunlight.

Trailing behind, John teased, “Did the neighbors raise their gate again?”

Chris, recalling some incident, smiled wryly, “Maybe their kid went through a growth spurt.”

Emily didn’t understand who they were talking about. Meanwhile, next door was Chris’s home. She followed him through their yard gate, crossing the green lawn into the house.

Chris fetched a pair of women’s slippers for her, and as she awkwardly changed, an aunt came hurrying down the stairs, her face lighting up with delight. “Chris, you’re home!”

Chris greeted her warmly, “Aunt Susan, are Dad and Mom upstairs?”

Aunt Susan answered, “They went to the hospital to check on the neighbor’s kid. They’ll be back later.”

“What happened to the neighbor’s kid?”

“A cold developed into pneumonia,” Aunt Susan replied.

The two families were close, so visiting was understandable. She added, “It shouldn’t be severe. I heard they'll be discharged tomorrow.”

Her gaze shifted over Chris's shoulder, landing on Emily, who stood awkwardly with oversized slippers, unsure whether to greet her.

Aunt Susan, however, redirected her attention back to Chris and John. “Was the journey tiring? Hungry? I’ve made sweet soup.”

As she and Chris exchanged questions and answers, Aunt Susan intentionally did not focus on Emily.

Once they finished the soup, Chris instructed the driver to take John home. Despite John's reluctance, Chris explained with amusement, “If you stay, I won’t be able to communicate honestly with my family. They might hold back, fearing to express their true feelings. Without complete communication, there’ll be misunderstandings.”

John, persuaded, reluctantly left.

The quiet returned to the house. Chris tousled Emily’s hair affectionately, “Aunt Susan will take you upstairs, okay?”

Emily was shy and wanted to refuse, worried that such defiance might make Chris dislike her. Only when Aunt Susan called for her did she ascend the stairs, constantly looking back.

Her room had already been prepared—a pink, girlish theme permeated her surroundings, with the gentle scent of jasmine in the air. It was a room she had never even dreamed of. Aunt Susan pulled matching pink sheets from the closet and ensured the bed was made. The sun was setting outside, filling the room with an orange glow.

Noticing Emily tentatively standing by the door with her suitcase, Aunt Susan sighed and took the suitcase, neatly arranging Emily’s clothes in the wardrobe, “Don’t be afraid; Chris will take care of you.”

Emily nodded with conviction.

Aunt Susan understood that this young girl had no idea how Chris bringing her here might stir up a storm in his family, so she chose not to say more. Instead, she instructed Emily on how to use the hot water system and pointed out a line of bath products, detailing their functions.

Each instruction illuminated Emily’s lack of knowledge, making her feel like a weed rooted in the wrong garden, unable to match the grandeur she was given. It bred a self-loathing, reflected in the mirror with wind-chapped cheeks, cracked lips, and her rustic braid out of place even in a new princess dress.

Yet Aunt Susan was quite pleased with the transformation of Emily after her bath, “Chris put a lot of thought into this. He bought you all this early on.”

Hearing this was like a ray of light breaking through Emily’s earlier gloom, bringing a sparkle to her eyes.

“He didn’t dare buy too many clothes without knowing your size, worried they wouldn’t be right,” Aunt Susan laughed as she helped undo Emily’s braid. “But everything fits perfectly.”

Glancing at the oversized slippers, Aunt Susan chuckled, “Except for the shoes.”

“They’re fine,” Emily hurriedly asserted. “They’ll fit once I’m done growing.”

“We’ll get you another pair later,” Aunt Susan said, prompting Emily, about to wash her hair, to stand upright with urgency, “No, I love these shoes.”

They were a gift from Chris, and she cherished them.

Aunt Susan didn’t argue further over shoes, as a sudden noise from downstairs signaled Chris’s parents had returned from the hospital.

Initially, their conversation was muted, but it gradually grew into a discernible argument. Concerned, Aunt Susan told Emily to finish her shower but instructed sternly, “Don’t come down unless I call you.”

Emily agreed. As she diligently scrubbed her hair, soapy water irritably found its way into her eyes. Reaching blindly for a towel, she accidentally knocked over a bottle, sending a cascade of containers tumbling down on her head.

The sting was sharp, but it couldn’t compare to the hurt she felt inside. Even as she tried to distract herself, she couldn’t ignore Chris’s tired yet firm voice in the midst of the heated discussion below.

It seemed Chris’s parents weren’t entirely welcoming, a realization that filled Emily with a sense of being a burden to him.

An hour later, Aunt Susan came to whisk her downstairs for dinner.

Unsure how she would face Chris's parents, Emily lingered at the window, “I’m not hungry.”

Aunt Susan shook her head, blow-dried Emily’s hair, and insisted, "You have to."

She added, “Emily, be a good girl.”

That way, Chris might find it a bit easier.

Emily lowered her eyes and did as instructed, bracing herself for a storm but finding, upon descending, that the meal was peaceful.

This was Emily’s first time meeting Chris’s parents, and in them, she found herself thinking of the term “learned family.”

Chris’s father, the editor of the Chicago Political Times, with a pen that wielded swords of words, exuded a bookish elegance with an edge of authority. Meanwhile, his mother was a famous painter known for her meticulous style; her international exhibition three years earlier had stirred quite a sensation.

At that moment, Emily knew nothing of Chris’s family background. She only saw them seated under the chandelier, their presence outshining the light itself, moving with an elegance she felt she might never belong to.

As she sat down, she handled her chopsticks cautiously, keeping as quiet as possible, her eyes avoiding any contact with Chris’s parents.

Still, his mother and father asked simple questions, like her age and school grade.

“Twelve, seventh grade.” Emily answered briefly, her dialect making it hard to understand.

The conversation stilled. Chris’s parents exchanged glances, through which they conveyed resignation. Their propriety prevented them from voicing displeasure to a child, but they couldn’t deny the discomfort of suddenly gaining a country girl adopted by their son.

Support could be given in many ways; Chris’s history of charitable deeds attested to that. They could fund Emily’s education into adulthood, but bringing her to live with them was a wholly different matter.

“I plan to enroll Emily at Franklin Middle School,” Chris insisted on his decision to keep Emily, “here in Chicago.”

His father’s forehead noticeably twitched, hinting at his rising frustration, but Chris’s mother, grasping his hand, signaled for calm.

“Have you considered who will care for Emily while we lead our busy lives?” she inquired.

Chris finished what remained of his meal, wiped his mouth calmly with a napkin, and replied, “We have Aunt Susan, don’t we?”

His mother found no words.

“And besides,” Chris's reassuring smile turned to Emily, “I believe Emily is quite an independent young lady.”

Every hardship Emily faced since losing her parents fueled Chris’s resolve to bear the responsibility.

His smile was infectious, and the anxiety that had gripped Emily’s heart gave way. Though the surroundings were alien and daunting, the warmth of Chris’s presence made them feel like home.

On the surface, dinner seemed uneventful, yet it ended under a cloak of tension. For two days following, Emily did not join Chris and his parents for meals. Though under one roof, they avoided each other.

“Is this really alright?” Emily asked, stricken with worry, as Chris drove her to school the next day. 

Chris knelt to look directly at her, his voice as soothing as always, “I promised you a top-notch education.”

“That’s not the issue,” she persisted, believing herself to be the source of familial discord. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, “Uncle Chris, maybe you should send me back.”

Chris remained resolute, “This is non-negotiable.” He unbuckled her seatbelt, picked up the new backpack he had bought her, and led her from the car. Fearing she might flee, he held her hand firmly, escorting her to the school gates. Around them, students hurried to their classes, maple leaves scattered in their wake.

From afar, the bell rang out, but Chris’s voice reached close, “Emily, let’s say this is my selfish request—give me a chance to make things right, okay?”

Emily remained perplexed.

“Only when you find happiness, can my guilt be eased,” Chris’s voice stayed steady, though a hidden whirlpool seemed to churn beneath his serene exterior, an illusion of calm over profound depths.